Fall in Silence
by That's LEON
Summary: Leon thinks he has to jump, but maybe all he really needs is to fall. Cleon/CLC, rated for morbid thoughts and boys kissing.


**Fall in Silence  
**_Toothpaste Addict_

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**A/N: **Inspired by my therapist, who is teaching me to confront "the void."

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Leon pauses at the sound of footfall behind him, his shallow breaths quieting as he listens closely from his perch on the cliff overlooking Radiant Garden. He doesn't speak, doesn't make any move to acknowledge the newcomer, eyes repeatedly tracing the fall he could take from here. It's a long way, he notes, that information filing itself away efficiently.

How long would it take, he wonders serenely, to hit the bottom? And what would he think, as he fell? What would meet him at the end?

He doesn't want enough time to regret, he knows. He doesn't want the time to feel the tainting cowardice that he knows will race for him, even long after he's made up his mind to jump. He doesn't want time to think about everything he's leaving behind, doesn't want to think at all as he falls. He's done enough thinking in his life.

He's had enough of his own sardonic voice ripping through his skull, relentless and constant. He wants to know, for once in his life, what it's like to be at peace. Will he finally know, when he lets his more morbid tendencies win out?

When he falls, will he finally have that one moment of quiet he so covets?

One of his feet nudges at the ground, pushing a small rock over the edge of the precipice to take the path he knows he will, one day. And he will mirror that same fall, he knows, because he has to jump.

He's thought about this a lot, and he knows there is no other way. Every other method he can think of involves him being in control until the very end. Jumping is the only way he can achieve that one, pristine, otherwise unattainable moment where the world goes silent before it goes dark.

As he raises a hand to his throbbing temple, he hears a part of him that's so far from him plead and grovel pathetically for that moment.

He's thought about this a lot, and to be perfectly honest, there's nothing morose about his musings. They're clean, professional, unblemished by anything reminiscent of emotion. Detached, one could say. There's nothing rash or desperate about it--it's not some sort of last-ditch attempt at escapism, like the others would think. He's not brooding, not having some sort of introspective crisis; he's just resigned to the reality of his situation. He can't jump now, because he has a world to restore. He knows that, and he knows that this is the end of the line.

When he's done here, that's it.

When he's done, he's going to leave.

His eyes follow the predetermined path of his fall one more time, a silent promise to return, before he turns on his heel. Cloud is standing a ways off, watching him quietly, approaching him when he starts away from the cliff.

"Leon."

He tries to meet the other man's eyes and flinches away when the white noise in his skull lashes against his nerves in protest. "...?"

"You don't have to--" Cloud's mako eyes flick over to the edge of the cliff. "There are other ways."

"Are you accusing me of not thinking this through?" Leon questions, with a dry laugh that echoes tastelessly off of the rocks. Cloud has seen him, disappearing every day to visit his own grave. Cloud has seen into the barren wasteland that's Squall, seen that there's nothing there worth salvaging.

"Yes."

The older man's eyes narrow, the ever present sensation of strangulation tightening its hold on him. "And what am I overlooking?"

"The fact that you don't want to jump." Cloud takes a step forward, effectively closing the distance between them. "You just want to know what it feels like to fall."

Leon feels something unravel inside him as the blond reads him like an open book, the carefully filed pages that document his preconceived death scattering. The invisible hands on his windpipe clench as he comes undone and he knows--in that horrible moment he _knows_--that he's going to suffocate with this unbearable chaos inside of him. He's going to die without ever knowing the true meaning of silence.

As that thought strikes him, a part of him that's so far from him sinks to its knees and gives a heartbroken cry of despair.

He realizes what's about to happen a moment before it does, everything inside of him rushing toward a familiar chasm as Cloud leans up to kiss him. He freezes, completely stunned, at the light brush of lips against his own, the slightly more insistent press of the other man's tongue along the seam of his mouth.

Everything falls apart, the organization in his mind that had been so textbook-perfect now so obviously decayed as it collapses on itself, rancid and thoroughly broken. The white noise screams to a zenith, smothering him so violently that he knows he'll never see the light of day again... and then it happens.

The gentle graze of knuckles along his jaw coaxes him into submission and he begins to respond, parting his lips for the younger man's probing tongue and raising a tentative hand to Cloud's fluffy spikes. And everything goes quiet.

It's exactly what he imagined falling would be like, except maybe sweeter, because the moment isn't broken by fatal impact. It draws itself out, the turbulence in him stilling as he realizes he'd forgotten what it meant to feel calm. The superficial serenity that allowed him to look at his own death so objectively is nothing compared to... _this_.

And that's the only thing he can call it, because it's beyond words; words are too calculating, too precise--too detached and professional, just like he's been.

And suddenly, the chaos is no longer chaos. The disarray is no longer intimidating; it's nothing but rubble underneath his feet, nothing but lingering evidence of the self-deception he's felled with Cloud's help. And Cloud has made it so, so simple.

He ceases to think, his mind free falling as the younger man releases him from himself, murmuring between their mouths, "If you really wanted to jump, I would let you."

But he doesn't want to, because he doesn't want to hit the ground anymore.

He just wants to fall.

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**Please, please read this A/N: **A friend of mine commented on this earlier saying that suicidal!Leon surprised her because she'd thought he was more "strong-minded", and I want to make something very clear: **I am, in NO WAY, implying that Leon is weak.**

Morbid depression is not about feeling "sad" and "needing a way out", nor is it about "not being able to take it anymore" or "giving in." It's about ceasing to feel and being able to rationalize about your own life to the point that you believe you _don't need _to live anymore. It makes so much sense at the time, and that's what's frightening about it.

And actually, the "strong" (less emotional / more rational) are more susceptible because they are so quick to shed their emotions, which is what I tried to portray with Leon here.

Kudos if you read all of that. XD

_Review plz ;w;_


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